From the Wreckage
by coolbyrne
Summary: An explosion at the lab serves as an epiphany for Sara.
1. chapter 1

TITLE: From the Wreckage

AUTHOR: coolbyrne

RATING: The very generic PG

CATEGORY: GSR

SPOILERS: This is a pre-PWF fic based on spoilers I've read. Whether or not my story will bear any resemblance to the actual episode, I figure there will still be some similar points of reference.

DISTRIBUTION: If you like it, by all means.

DISCLAIMER: If the episode turns out to be exactly like this fic, then somewhere along the way, I've been hired by CSI and can lay some claim to these characters. However, I suspect not.

FEEDBACK: Compliments/constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. Flames will be mocked in other forums. Send any combination of the above to: fugitive@ihateclowns.com.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: No beta on this one as of May 8th, primarily because I wanted to get it out before PWF aired. I plan on getting it beta'd and will repost it in the near future, however. Until then, my apologies for whatever grammar/spelling/continuity errors you find. As well, I really don't subscribe to the idea of writing WIPs, and though this story is posted in chapters, I will have it done in two days, dammit! LOL! I just wanted to start posting it now, rather than as a whole.

SUMMARY: An explosion at the lab serves as an epiphany for Sara.

*

And if I don't make it, know that/

I loved you all along/

Just like sunny days that/

We ignore because/

We're all dumb and jaded.

-4AM by Our Lady Peace

*

In a heartbeat, the world ended.

Sight and sound, touch, taste and smell were gone. She didn't know whether she was standing up or crawling, alive or dead. 

'Don't let me be dead,' she thought, 'I still owe Nick twenty dollars from the Super Bowl.' If she could have, she would have laughed at the absurdity of the thought, but laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. Pain was probably the closest. Then, she was surprised to discover, regret. And with that thought, an image sprung up unbidden. 

Grissom.

God, Grissom. The things left undone, the words left unspoken. 

She had just begun to contemplate the idea when everything returned to her. Except it was as if someone had cranked the volume to "high" and the brightness to "blinding". She realized she wasn't dead. And she wasn't standing. She was alive and on her stomach. From silence came the muffled tones not unlike being under water, and from those grew the shouts of the injured and the rescuers. Somewhere directly behind her ear it seemed, a fire alarm blared out its shrill cry.

Alive.

Her eyes had yet to distinguish a shadow across her field of vision, yet the metallic taste of blood in her mouth was unmistakable and the touch on her arm felt like a scrap against her hyper sensitive skin. As she pulled her arm away, she heard one word among the cacophony.

"Sara."

She didn't have to see in order to put a face to the voice.

Grissom.

When he reached for her arm again, she rolled over onto her back, avoiding his touch. 

"It… it hurts."

"I know, I know," he soothed. "It's going to be okay."

She made an effort to sit up, and at risk of being rejected again, he put his arm around her waist and helped her. His other hand found its way to her forehead, where it tenderly brushed back a strand of hair. With this, his image came into sharp focus. He was so close, her senses so attuned, that she could see the creases in his lips and the trace of stubble as it made its presence known along his chin and jaw line. But it was his eyes that drew her attention. Bright blue pools- brighter than she had ever seen- filled with concern and anxiety, and something else she had never seen in him before this moment. Fear.

He pressed his forehead softly against hers and stroked her hair in such repetition, it was as if he didn't dare break contact with her for a moment. This time, the tremble in his voice was unmistakable.

"Sara."

She reached up a hand and rubbed his forearm. "It's okay." When this didn't seem to be enough to reassure him, she said, "I'm okay."

This seemed to placate him, and he leaned back to look at her once more. She squinted her eyes as her memory tried to put the pieces together, but the images were out of focus. Her eyes darted about, looking for clues, and finding none that cleared the murky water of her recollection, she looked at Grissom.

"What happened?"

"There was an explosion in the lab."

The words seeped in and began to form into images. Waiting with Nick for DNA results. Nick getting a call from Brass and leaving. Joking around with Greg. The hallway… and then…

"Oh my God, Greg," she whispered.

"The paramedics have taken him to General," Grissom said. "Second degree burns, some broken bones. Nothing life-threatening, but… it could have been better."

"Anyone else hurt?"

"We don't know. A couple of minor injuries I think, but the fire crew isn't done yet." He leaned back a bit more to get a better look at her. "But you're okay." It was more of a question that a comment.

"Yeah," she replied. "I mean, besides the pain, I'm okay." She gave him a small smile to ease the worry that had returned to the creases of his eyes.

"You caught a lot of glass in your arms."

Sure enough, when she looked down, she saw the patchwork of tiny shards along her forearm, blotches of crimson marking their spot. She picked a sliver of glass from the base of her wrist, then another and another as she worked her way up her arm. He took her hand in his.

"We should get a professional to do that," he told her.

Smiling again, she replied, "I am a professional. Of sorts."

He smiled and let out a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a sob of relief. "Are you okay to move?" he asked. When she nodded her answer, he continued, "I think we should get you away from here and get someone to take a look at you."

"I'm okay."

"I know, but we should make sure." He saw the flash of stubbornness in her eyes and he whispered, "Please. For me."

Her mouth turned downward, but she relented. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, and guided her left arm around his neck while tightening his grip around her waist to help her up.

"I should have told you I couldn't get up. You would have had to carry me."

He shook his head. "Believe me, no one wants to see that."

"I would," she smirked.

He have her a sidelong look and a smirk of his own. "Now I know you're okay."

The warmth of his laughter and his embrace was doing wonders to make her forget about the pain, until she looked straight ahead and stopped dead in her tracks.

"What's wrong," Grissom asked worriedly.

"Anyone but Hank," she said, and when she saw the confusion in his eyes, she repeated, "take me to anyone but Hank."

Still confused, but yielding to her wish, he steered her in the direction of another nearby paramedic. The young man, a vision of calm in the chaos, looked up from tending to the gash on the forehead of a technician Sara didn't recognize. 

"I'll be with you in just a sec," the paramedic said. "I think you'll be okay," he informed his patient, "but you should get some x-rays done on your head, just in case. We want to rule out any hairline fractures or inner bruising." The tech nodded, though it was apparent even that slight motion caused pain. "They're loading up a couple of ambulances outside with minor injuries and taking them to the hospital. Julie will help you out." With that, he gestured a dark-haired woman over, who gently helped the injured man to his feet and steadied him as they made their way out.

Turning to Sara, he said, "Please, sit." 

She did as asked, and Grissom knelt beside her. 

The medic clicked on his small flashlight and shone it in her eyes. "What's your name?" he asked.

" 'Sara Sidle'," she dutifully replied.

He checked her forehead and frowned at the cut along the hairline. "Where are you?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Apparently with a paramedic who's lost."

He flicked off the flashlight and returned the smile. "Okay, so your brain functions seem fine."

"More than fine," Grissom chimed in with a smile of his own.

The paramedic nodded. "Right. Nothing too serious, I don't think. You need some of these wounds on your arms stitched up, as well as this baby right here," he motioned to the cut on her forehead. "Other than that, and some pain I'm sure you're feeling, you should be fine. When Julie comes back, she can take you out to one of the ambulances."

"Thanks," Sara said.

"Yes, thank you," Grissom echoed.

The young man simply nodded and moved on to another one of the injured. Now left alone, neither knew what to say to the other, and the silence stretched out before them. His eyes took in everything about her and with every cut and wound captured in his mind, she could feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves. Uncharacteristically, she reached up and brushed her hand through his hair.

"I'm okay," she assured him.

He closed his eyes momentarily, willing away the emotion. A deep breath helped him summon the courage to say, "I know. I know," but there was no strength in his whisper.

The moment was interrupted by a shout from across the room.

"Gil Grissom!"

Both he and Sara turned to the voice. Sheriff Mobley. In an instant, it became clear who was the proverbial fan and who was the projectile feces.

"Shit," Grissom muttered.

"You should go," Sara said.

Torn between facing the music and staying with Sara, between duty and concern, Grissom clenched his jaw at the dilemma.

"Hey, I'll be okay. I am okay," she repeated for the hundredth time that night. "Julie will be back in a second and I'll head to the hospital. It'll give me a chance to check in on Greg, see how he's doing. You have more important things to do here."

"Not more important." 

Nothing was said between them for a moment, until Grissom finally stood up, resigned to the only option available to him. "I guess I should face the music."

She reached up and squeezed his forearm. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."

"Call me from the hospital. Let me know how Greg is. And I'll give you a ride home." Before she could voice the protest in her eyes, he said firmly, "You shouldn't be driving with a head injury."

"Grissom, I'm going to the hospital in an ambulance. How am I going to drive home?"

Waving away her logic, he repeated, "Just call me, okay?"

"Okay."

And with that, he was on his way to face the music, as he had so eloquently put it. He just wasn't sure he was going to like the sound of it.

*


	2. chapter 2

Headers et al can be found in chapter one. Thanks for reading.

*

She hated hospitals. Really hated hospitals. Its antiseptic smell, its hushed hallways, its sanitary gleam. Not that she had anything against cleanliness, but this always seemed to border on obsessive-compulsive. 'Besides,' she thought, 'I've never left a hospital without feeling sicker than I was when I went in.'

She had waited an hour in emergency before seeing a very gentle doctor who reminded Sara of her grandfather, and she sat quiet and still as he carefully stitched up the cuts and soothed her with soft words of encouragement and compassion. She wanted to adopt him.

Now sent on her way with a hug and a prescription for painkillers, she made her way down the white, white hallway, careful to keep her eyes straight ahead and not look into the rooms along the way. The images of the sick and infirm sent shivers down Sara's spine; she never was very good with the living.

Getting permission from the nurse on duty, Sara peeked through the window of Greg's room before entering. 'Brave face,' she told herself, 'brave face for Greg.'

This turned out easier said than done the moment she entered the room and got a good look at him. Nearly covered head to toe in bandages and gauze, the young lab tech barely stood out from the sheets of his bed; only his dark hair attempted to break the whiteness of it all. Standing at his side, Sara reached out a hand and stroked his hair.

"Oh, Greg," she whispered sadly.

His eyelids flickered at the sound of his name, and fluttered open. His tongue came out to slide across dry lips before he rasped, "I must be dead, because you're an angel."

She laughed at this and ruffled his hair. "Nice to see you haven't lost your charm, Greggo."

He gave a weak half sort of smile before asking, "How are you?"

"You're starting to sound more and more like Grissom every day. But with charm. He keeps asking me that, too."

Greg's brows furrowed. "Is… is he mad at me?"

Sara's brows went in the opposite direction of his. "What?"

"It's my lab, he's always telling me. I'm the master. It… it was my responsibility."

"God, Greg, no," she stroked his hair again. "It's not your responsibility, and Grissom is definitely not mad at you. He's worried about you."

"Worried about me?"

"Greg, Greg, Greg," she whispered. "Of course he's worried about you. Just because he doesn't say it doesn't mean he doesn't care."

"Has… has anyone called my parents? I need to tell them that I love them."

Sara smiled. "I'm sure Andrea from Personnel has contacted them, but I'll find out for sure, okay? Greg, you're going to be fine, you're not going to die."

His bottom lip trembled. "I know. But in the split second that it happened, all I could think of was that I hadn't told them in a long time that I loved them. It shouldn't take something like this to remind me." The tears came freely down his cheeks, and she gently wiped them away until the day's events caught up with him and he drifted back to sleep.

*


	3. chapter 3

I'll probably add on to this in the future, but in terms of getting this out prior to PWF, this is it. I hope you've enjoyed it and continue to do so. And thanks to those who have taken the time to leave feedback. Much appreciated.

*

Despite the range of the blast, there were still areas and offices in the building that had escaped unscathed, Grissom's office being one of them. Here he could be found, figuratively licking the wounds recently inflicted by the scathing diatribe of Sheriff Mobley.

"What happened? Who was to blame? What are you going to do about it?"

Grissom had the same answer for all three questions.

"Considering it happened less than sixty minutes ago, I don't know."

Of course, this wasn't good enough for the Sheriff and he told Grissom in so many words; so many words that causes several people within shouting distance to spin around at the sound.

The phone jarred Grissom out of his moment of self-flagellation. 

" 'Grissom'," he said, and groaned when he heard the reply. Out of all the days to call… for a brief moment, he wondered whether it was a good idea to pretend to a hearing doctor that he couldn't hear her, and hang up. Grissom might have laughed at the dark humour of it all, if the call hadn't been so damn intrusive right now.

"Dr. Grissom, you didn't return my call last week," the pleasant professional voice on the other end remarked.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Yes. I apologize for that. Things here have just been busy and I haven't been able to find the time."

"Well, I would hope you find the time soon, Dr. Grissom. It's not a commodity we have to spare when it comes to your condition."

'You mean, it's not a commodity I have to spare,' Grissom thought ruefully. Out loud, he replied, "Yes, you're right."

"Have you given any thought to our talk of surgery?"

He willed himself not to sigh again. "Yes, I've thought about it."

"Have you come to a decision?" his doctor asked.

"I… I don't know," he admitted. "I just need… I need more…"

"Time?" 

"Look, can I call you back tomorrow and discuss this in depth? It's just not a very good time for me right now."

Now it was the doctor's turn to sigh. "Very well, but I'm not sure there's ever going to be a 'good' time, Dr. Grissom."

He set the receiver back in its cradle, and leaned forward. Placing his elbows on his desk, he rested his chin in one hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. Losing time, losing his hearing, losing his job, losing his mind…

Losing Sara.

Despite everything else, it was this that had truly made him afraid. When he had heard the loud rumble of the explosion, all his thoughts focussed on one thing. Sara. And when he ran into the chaos of the scene and saw her lying face down, it was as if the world had stopped moving. The sensation that flooded over him settled dreadfully in his stomach, and it took everything in his power not to vomit at the scene. 'I will gladly lose everything else, just don't let me lose her,' he had silently pleaded to a god he scarcely believed in.

And now, she was okay. She was alive. The irony was, a part of him felt obligated to keep up his end of the deal. It was the only explanation he had for the defeat he felt in his heart.

*

The only person he needed to see somehow became the last person he wanted to see. He realized this the moment he saw her leaning in the doorway.

'Not now,' he silently pleaded. 'I cannot deal with us right now.' His head jerked back slightly at this inner revelation. It was the first time he could recall when he consciously linked himself with Sara. 'This is not helping,' he chastised himself.

"Griss," she said, the first to speak. "Can I… can I talk to you?"

A bit more sharply than he intended, he said, "I thought I told you to call me from the hospital."

She blinked at the rebuke, but continued. "They're still shuttling ambulances back and forth; I got a ride back."

He nodded, though it seemed something on his desk held more interest.

"Griss, I need to talk to you."

His eyes flicked up. "Now's not a good time."

Giving a short laugh, she looked up at the ceiling before returning her gaze to him. "We spend all our lives waiting for a "good" time, the "right" time. Before you know it, we're out of time."

He was going to pretend he didn't know what she meant, but another surreptitious glance at her told him he couldn't outright lie to her. Instead, he whispered, "I know, Sara. But really, not right now."

She crossed her arms and stood her ground. "Now now? Then when, Griss? When we're old and gray and it's too late? When you get attacked at a crime scene because of some perp? When there's another explosion in the lab and I'm not so lucky?"

"Sara…"

"I've stood by you for three years as your student, as your colleague, and as your friend. But today just brought so many things into sharp focus, you know?"

He did, all too well, but he kept silent.

"So here's the deal. Cards on the table. Whatever the outcome, we will deal with it like adults and move on." She took a quick intake of breath before plunging onward. "I care about you in ways I never have for anyone else in my life. You're the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. I read an article in a magazine and I want to call you up and talk your ear off about it. I see someone walking down the street and for a brief moment, I think it's you and my heart…" she steadied the tremble in her voice with another breath. "I think you might feel the same way about me. If you do, then let's do something about it instead of this dance that we do. If you don't…" her voice trailed off.

Here was his chance, his chance to do something good and right with his life. But the crack in his armour was quickly filled with well-worn excuses to hide his fears. The job. The age gap. His hearing.

His heart had one answer. His brain had another. The latter was quicker.

"I don't."

She gave a small forced grin. "What?"

He cleared his throat and repeated more firmly, "I don't. Feel the same way."

The words connected like a punch to the stomach. In fact, she subconsciously tilted forward, as if absorbing the blow. She took a moment to catch her breath before asking, "So, all those times together, those things you said…"

His response was silence.

She looked up at the ceiling again and willed the tears away.

"I'm sorry, Sara," he said.

She gave a tight smile and waved away his words. "No, no, it's okay. Really. I obviously read way too much into things. Wow. I mean, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right?"

"Sara…"

"No, really, Griss, it's okay." She turned in the doorway and made a motion to the hall. "The doctor gave me some medication. I should take off before it kicks in."

"Get Nick to…"

"Don't." She tried to soften the edge in her voice. "I'm fine. But thank you."

With that, she collected whatever scrap of pride she had left and walked out. If someone had asked her later on how she got from his office to her car, she couldn't have told them. Images passed by in a blur as the battle she was fighting against the oncoming tears was shifting in their favour. By the time she got to her car, the tears were flowing freely.

What she didn't know was that the man she had left behind inside wasn't faring much better.


End file.
